The Fastest Way to Win an Argument
by K Hanna Korossy
Summary: Even with Dean's time ticking down, love and concern always trump anger and fear.


**The Fastest Way to Win an Argument**  
K Hanna Korossy

Christmas had been bittersweet, a reminder of what they still had, even while Dean's clock was ticking down.

New Year's was brutal.

There was plenty to forget about the old year, including Sam having died and Dean having sold his soul, but it was the coming year they'd been trying to drink away. The year Dean wouldn't see the end of unless they found a way out, and every time the thought crossed Sam's mind, he took another swig. Which meant that by the time the ball dropped in Times Square, Sam had been too stewed to see it.

Which meant he felt more like the reanimated dead now than he had eight months before when he'd literally come back to life. Which meant they probably shouldn't have been having this argument now, not when Dean looked about as green as Sam felt.

Which had never stopped them.

"Why not, Dean? We might have the answer right here—in _me_—and we're not even gonna try it?"

"No, Sam, we're not." Their deference to both their hangovers was that they argued in harsh whispers, but Dean's voice made up in sharpness and force what it lacked in volume. "Not this. I didn't bring you back just so you could sell your soul, too."

Sam shook his head and dropped his hands to his side. "Come on, don't you think that's exaggerating a little, man? I've been using these abilities, what, over a year now? And I'm still me."

Dean dropped the jeans he'd been pretending to fold and glared at Sam over the bed between them. "You haven't been using your abilities, Sam—they've been using you. You weren't in control of any of it. But you start down that road, you start flipping switches and…"

"What?" Sam pushed. "I'll go evil? They'll turn me?"

"You said it, not me," Dean said darkly.

Sam took a breath, trying to calm himself, and ramp down the headache that was pressing against the top of his head. His hands were shaking but he ignored that. "Dean, Ava tapped in to her abilities to _kill _people. I've used mine to save others, sometimes from the Yellow-Eyed Demon himself. They're not evil by nature—it's how you use them that counts."

Dean swung back to him, throwing out an arm momentarily to skim the bed for balance. Definitely not the best time for this _discussion_. Sam wasn't even sure what had started it. "You remember Connecticut, that kid ghost at the inn, Sam? You getting smashed one night and making me promise to stop you if you started going darkside?"

"Dean—"

"Well, consider this me stopping you before instead of after. We're not doing this."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "'We'? Right, like _we_ decided you'd trade yourself to bring me back."

"Sam."

"Or like _we're _the ones who've been struggling with these abilities for the last couple of years."

Dean's face fell; it was a low blow. Fact was, he had suffered every mile of that road with Sam, and Sam knew it.

He chewed his lip, softened his voice. "Dean…I can't just watch you die when I might be able to save you. I can't."

A muscle in Dean's jaw jumped. "And I say you're not throwing all of this away on a _chance_ that _maybe _will save me. I don't want it, Sam. I'm not losing you again. It's not worth it to me, not at that price."

"Yeah, well. Maybe it's not your choice to make, man," Sam said coolly, and started past him. He'd had more than enough, and this wasn't getting them anywhere except some serious antagonism.

Dean grabbed his arm. "Hey, we're not—"

Working their way through several six-packs and bottles the night before had left Dean in a little less than usual control of his strength, however, and Sam a little less steady in his balance. He swung back dizzily at Dean's jerk, trying and failing to stay on his feet. The next thing Sam knew, his tailbone was hitting the floor and the side of his head was smashing into something hard and unyielding in a blinding shower of painful sparks.

The world washed out for a moment.

Dean's face was inches from his own when Sam's vision cleared, and he reared back in surprise.

Bad move. His stomach gave up its tenuous hold on its contents, and with a groan, Sam leaned over between his bent knees and threw up on Dean's feet.

Well, that answered the question of whether he could possibly be more miserable than he had been five minutes before.

"—Sorry. God, I'm sorry," Dean was stammering. Sam had no energy or desire to put up a fight as Dean lifted him up on the bed and wrestled his splattered shirt off. His brother cleaned his face with a wet cloth while pressing against his ear and the side of his head, which throbbed and felt warm and wet. "Sam? You with me?" Sam flinched and tried not to pull away. He'd done enough of that already. "Sammy? Hey."

"Yeah," he finally managed. "'M okay."

Dean was leaning over him, his shirt brushing Sam's cheek and nose. It smelled faintly of beer and sweat, and Sam closed his eyes for a moment, grounding himself. Dean sucked in a breath through his teeth, then softly swore, anger Sam knew wasn't directed at him. "Tore your ear a little, dude, but the cut doesn't look too bad. 'Course, it's under all that hair, so it's kinda hard to tell…"

"Y're not shaving me," Sam mumbled.

"No, I think I can glue it. Ear's gonna need a few stitches…" Dean muttered to himself as he carried on his exam.

Sam stared at his hands in his lap, concentrating on staying upright, not getting sick again, not seeing double. It felt like his brain was pressing against the back of his eyes and the inside of his ears, and his body was heavy and weak.

He was weak.

"Sorry," he whispered.

Dean paused. "You've got nothing to be sorry about, Sammy," he said flatly. "I'm the one who slammed you into the friggin' bed frame."

"No, I mean," Sam's hand fluttered, and he swallowed bile, "I'll tell Ruby no. We've got four months left and I don't…I don't want to spend it fighting, Dean."

Another beat of stillness, then Dean sank onto the bed across from him, his hand still stretched to keep pressure against the side of Sam's head. "I get what you're feeling, Sam, I do. But we'll find another way, okay?"

Sam tried to smile and couldn't quite make it. "Yeah, all right."

"Good."

It wasn't, really. But it was a new year, they had four months left still, and for now…it was enough.

**The End**


End file.
